


flowers in your throat

by SparkleMoose



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: But For Platonic Reasons, Finarfin-centric, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, In Which Arfin Loves Too Much and Its Killing Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Arafinwë loves his people.Arafinwë loves his people, which is why, when the times come, he will let that same love kill him.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	flowers in your throat

Arafinwë is dying. He knows this, knows his cousin and his uncle look at him in concern every time he has to excuse himself to cough up bloodied petals. He knows they suspect something, knows that they want to approach him about why he leaves so suddenly during their sparse time together.

Arafinwë knows that his mothers family loves him, which is why, of course, he can’t let them know.

* * *

Ulmo comes to him once, bringing with him the might of the sea that Arafinwë so misses, that he knows he will never experience without grief clogging his chest again.

“You love too much,” Ulmo observes as Arafinwë tries to swallow the petals in his throat, “Who is it for?”

And Arafinwë laughs, he laughs and it turns into a cough as blood and petals fall from his lips. He feels the Vala support him, ensure that Arafinwë doesn’t fall over from the strength of the coughs wracking his body.

Arafinwë laughs again when the coughing stops, and he turns to look the Vala in the eyes.

“Who isn’t it for?” he asks with a wry smile on his lips, “Who among my people do I not love?”

* * *

Here is the thing; Arafinwë has always been a fool in love. First with his family, first with his father and his brothers and nephews. Then with his wife and his own children. Arafinwë has always been in love in some form or another. Which is why, when after the Trees fall and Aman darkens he isn't surprised to find himself coughing up flowers.

It is then that Arafinwë realizes that it is not only his family that he loves, but the people who look to them for guidance as well.

* * *

"We could rid you of it," Manwë offers, "We could take the flowers from your chest, let you live." And Arafinwë looks at the Vala he had once admired and his smile is all teeth.

"Do you think I would let you?" he asks, "Do you think I would let you rip me from my people like that?"

"Your people need you alive, not coughing to death in a hidden room."

Arafinwë is silent for a moment, Manwë's words ringing true in his ears.

He turns and looks at the King of Wind.

"Tell me," the elf demands, and wonders why he ever thought the Ainur knew better, "Tell me, what is a king without love? What good is a king that is not willing to die for their people?"

Manwë does not answer.

Arafinwë answers his own questions.

"A king without love is a tyrant," Arafinwë continues, "A king unwilling to sacrifice himself for his people should have never been given the throne in the first place. I am selfish, King of Kings, but I am also foolish enough to know that I would rather wither and die than let myself be robbed of this love I have for my people."

* * *

Ingwë is the first of his remaining family to confront him about it.

"You're dying," the King says and Arafinwë only smiles at his uncle. Soft, sweet, the type of smile Arafinwë would give to people as a child.

"Yes," Arafinwë says, "I am."

"The Valar could save you," his uncle points out and Arafinwë stares at the furrow of Ingwë's brow, at the tense line of his shoulders.

"You know that they can't, that one way or another I am doomed."

Something wild and dark flashes in Ingwë's eyes. "I'll find a way to save you."

Arafinwë laughs.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

* * *

Ingwion knows, he must know, which is why he keeps to Arafinwë's side during the War of Wrath.

"You will come home alive, cousin," Ingwion says fiercely, "I am not letting you die."

Arafinwë opens his mouth to respond, and petals the color of moonlight fall from his mouth.

* * *

Arafinwë is gentle.

Arafinwë is terrible.

These two statements do not have to contradict each other.

* * *

It is when Sauron takes the field that Arafinwë feels his throat clear. It is when Sauron takes the field in front of the High King of the Noldor in Aman that Arafinwë decides that enough is enough.

That Sauron has to die for what he's done. That the dead that cried for mercy must be paid their due.

Arafinwë meets Sauron's eyes, watches as the golden gaze of the Maia flickers with amusement.

"What have we here?" Sauron drawls, striding toward Arafinwë like a cat stalking toward its prey, "The cowardly youngest has come out of hiding at last."

There is a rage in Arafinwë, a need to rip the limbs from Sauron's body, to make the Maia suffer for every ounce of torment that has been thrust upon Arafinwë's own people. That has rendered shadows under his children's eyes.

(For when Findaráto came forth from the Halls his gaze was solemn and exhausted. For when Arafinwë had looked upon his first-born he felt petals crawl in his throat and he was choking on love. Love for his children, love for his people. He was choking on love and rage and when Arafinwë finally went to War it was for those he loved.)

Instead Arafinwë smiles at Sauron, all sharp canines and threatening.

And when Sauron sings, Arafinwë answers, his love breaking free of his throat and lingering in the air around them. Arafinwë's love cutting through the hate and despair that Sauron's tries to overwhelm with. The song of the youngest of Finwë's twines in the air in silver and gold brings with it anger and sorrow. Regret and pain. But there is love still in all that, love and the acknowledgement that even the most beautiful emotion can be ugly.

And Sauron snarls, rage twisting his features as he lunges for the King that dared to love too much. 

Arafinwë grins, petals stuck to his teeth and he wastes no time sliding his blade between Sauron's ribs just as Sauron own sword rips through Arafinwë's own armor and finds it's way into his chest.

* * *

Arafinwë wakes up three days later. He wakes up with his son and his daughter by his side. He wakes, and the overwhelming love he feels for his people, for his family is still there.

Arafinwë wakes, and the first thing he does is cough petals into his hand.

As he lets his his children fuss and fret over him he also allows them their anger.

He could never deny them anything.


End file.
